Desperate Times
by Gertrude-04
Summary: Her weight was almost inconsequential in his arms. Her head lolled against his chest. He'd left it too long, he knew now with heart aching despair. He'd waited too long labouring under the belief that traditional medicines could help her." Please R & R!


A/N: This story is pretty self-explanatory, I guess. Just something that's been bouncing around my head for a long time.

For anyone still interested, updates to my other stuff are coming slowly but surely. Any suggestions would be appreciated, though.

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He drove the high end, cherry red sportscar like he had been born with a gear shift in his hand, a clutch under his foot. No matter it was stolen; the car responded to his touch as though it had been manufactored solely for his use. He appeared to accelerate with reckless abandon; like a man who feared a speeding ticket no less than being wrapped around the trunk of a tree or a telephone pole. But appearances can be deceiving. What were on the surface at least, random lane changes and haphazard tailgating, were in reality a desperate attempt to save time.

He glanced over at the still form laying swaddled in blankets on the seat next to him, and pushed the gas further to the floor. They'd been driving for days, and already he thought he'd lost her twice. But they were almost there. Just a few more minutes and she would get the care she so desperately needed. He caught sight of a line of heavy, ornate rod iron fencing running along the side of the road, and felt his shoulders loosen an eighth of a turn.

He pulled over onto the gravel shoulder, settling the car as smoothly as possible and barely taking the time to shift into park before leaping out of his seat.

Her weight was almost inconsequential in his arms. Her head lolled against his chest. He'd left it too long, he knew now with heart aching despair. He'd waited too long labouring under the belief that traditional medicines could help her. And now it was nearly too late. He could only pray that his stubborn pride hadn't killed her.

She had been slipping in and out of consciousness for the better part of the day, and although he knew all this travelling was likely speeding up what was rapidly enough taking her away from him, he hadn't had a choice. He had been cursed with quite a few mutations, but none of them were teleportation. There was only one place on Earth where she could be helped, and it was quite possibly the last place he wanted to go. But he had not hesitated when it became obvious she wasn't going to get better on her own. Her life meant far more to him than a years old dispute. If it could be called that.

He stopped at the heavy rod iron gate that rose up before them suddenly in the dark. It had been a long time, years in fact, but he had helped to develop this security system. He knew all the backdoors and secret windows he had kept hidden from the others. It would take a few minutes longer than he had hoped, but he couldn't risk simply breaking in the gate and getting shot at by automatic fire. He was reluctant to set her down on the rain dampened ground, so he shifted her weight until she was cradled against his chest. At one time her weight had been becoming too much for one arm. Now it was almost negligable.

He pried open the control box and got to work. It looked as if they had made some upgrades in the years since he had been gone, but there had been a reason why he had kept up to date on the technology. If at all possible, he had improved his skills over the years, and in considerably less time than he had predicted, the system was off line. No doubt that in itself would set off some kind of alarm in the house, but it gave him a longer window to get the front door than if he'd simply blown the gate. They would be unsure as to why the system was off line, and would spend critical minutes running system wide diagnostics.

He stepped up to the gate again. Even with the threat of screeching alarms and automatic energy fire gone, the gate was still a formidable obstacle. In times past he would simply vault it, landing neatly on the other side. But with this precious package in his arms, that was no longer an option. He glanced again at the gate, calculating the charge needed to blow the lock without injuring either himself or his young charge. He reached into his jacket, and pulled out a seven of clubs. A droplet of sweat appeared on his brow, trinkling down his nose as he watched the card glow a crackling fuschia. He inserted it carefully between the bars, then loped across the street and ducked behind the nearest oak tree. A few seconds later, an explosion sounded, interrupted by the ear piercing scream of metal wrenching.

She mewled softly, her hands jerked against the worn leather of his jacket; she was complaining in the only way she was able. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, pleading silently with her to hang on just a little longer. Her skin felt clammy under his lips; he whispered words intended as comfort next to her ear, but doubted she heard them. She hadn't heard him for hours; why should this time be any different?

The explosion had worked in just the capacity he had been hoping; the lock had been blown away and the spines of the gate had been forced inward. He stepped carefully through the hole, and set out as quickly as he could across the lawn without jostling her too much. He was safe in the knowledge that the explosion hadn't set off any mechanical alarms, but surely someone living in that house would've detected it. He had only minutes to reach the front door before someone got to him first. And he wasn't entirely certain he could plead his case out here in the dark. He wasn't even sure they wouldn't kill him on sight. But he had to take the chance.

The night was clouded over; without the benefit of moon light, even with his extremely photosensitive eyesight, distinguishing dangerous shadows from harmless ones was difficult. He wasn't about to take any pointless risks, not with this treasured life waning away in his arms. He hugged her ever tighter to his chest, and increased his pace. The door was nearing with every step, and with every step his heart rate increased. At last he was climbing up the cement steps, but stopped dead when he reached the last one.

He didn't need any of his mutations to recognize the short, stocky muscular shadow blocking his entrance. This man looked no different from the last time he had seen him. He was certain he could come back in a hundred years, and Logan would look the same. He glanced nervously at the six inch long claws protuding from the man's hands. He had never hesitated to take on this man before, but there was too much on the line this time. He took a cautious step forward.

"Logan, y'gotta help me."

The Canadian smirked, and flexed his hands for effect. "I don't 'gotta' do anything, Gumbo. What the hell are you doing here? We all thought ya were dead. That is, until we noticed your description on Interpol's most wanted."

In ordinary times, he would've made some smartass remark about what a great honour that was, and how disappointed he was to learn he couldn't attend the ceremony. Maybe he was opening his mouth to say just that. But then she groaned softly, strained against his arms with no more strength than a newborn kitten. He quickly changed gears, whispering words of comfort and love to her in Cajun french.

"Please, Logan. I'm beggin' y'. She ain't got much time left. She need Hank!"

Logan's cautious eyes flickered from the ex-thief, ex-cajun, ex-whatever, to the obviously frail life hanging limply in his arms. He could smell the distress pouring off him, and what he got from the girl wasn't promising at all. It didn't matter how much he hated the Cajun for what had happened. He wasn't going to let that hatred end a life that could otherwise be helped by the technology within these walls. He stepped aside, opening the door wide enough to let the now harried Cajun through.

Living in the mansion for as long as he had, Remy needed no direction to get to the hidden mahogony panelled elevator to take them down to the lower levels, and the medbay. "Hank in the lab?"he asked, hitting the appropriate button with his elbow.

Logan stepped in behind him, and smirked again. "Where else would he be?" He pulled a communicator out of his pocket, and flicked it open. "Hank? Prep the medbay. We're bringing in a patient fer ya. Young girl, about six-" His gaze moved up to glance at Remy, who nodded. "-about six years old. Be there in two."

He closed down the communicator after listening to Hank's grunted acknowledgement, and stuck it back in his pocket. Remy breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and let his head fall back to lean against the elevator wall. He felt as though he had been running for days. His heart seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his throat ever since he realized just how sick she really was. The adrenaline that was constantly coursing through his blood stream left his knees weak and his hands shaking. But it was all over. Surely Hank would be able to help her. There was nothing that doctor couldn't cure.

Jean Grey met them when the elevator spat them out in the metal lined hallway. Despite the desperateness of the situation, he still found himself pausing as he stepped out of the elevator. Jean, like most things worth anything, had grown more beautiful with age. It didn't surprise him to see a few flecks of grey in her fire red mane; she had always come off as a woman unafraid of her appearance. Remy wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it obviously hadn't been him. For her part, her only tell was a flickered glance of surprise towards his face. Then she was past it, and all her attention was on the listless girl still held protectively to his chest. She fell into step next to Remy, checking her vital signs as they hurried towards the medbay.

"How long as she been like this?" Jean glanced up at Remy's drawn and worried face.

He frowned, trying to think back to when this had all started. "'Bout a week, I guess. 'S gotten worse in de past day, t'ough."

Logan slapped the panel on the wall, and a set of recessed doors opened to reveal the medbay. Remy didn't spare a glance to the equipment that had seemed to have multiplied around him as he hurried to where Hank waited next to an exam bed. He set her down as gently as possible, but remained next to her, gripping her hand like it was his lifeline.

Hank wrapped a giant, furry hand around her free wrist, nearly eclipsing the appendage. His eyes closed softly as he checked her pulse. "How long as she had this fever?"

"Few days. Gets better, den worse again."

Hank shot a sharp glance up at the Cajun, but Remy didn't notice. His eyes were for the young girl on the exam table, and nothing else. Jean appeared at his side, one hand on his upper arm as she leaned forward and slipped a thermometer into his charge's mouth.

"What is your relationship to this girl?"

Remy opened his mouth to answer, but then Hank had gently pried open her eyelids to check pupil dialation, and it was obvious. The blue irises on black sclera could've only come from one other person. "She's my baby girl,"Remy said softly, brushing a lock of blond hair off her forehead. "Y'gotta help her, Hank."

"What's her name?"Jean asked from his other side. She watched him carefully, now more afraid for him than the young girl on the exam table. It had felt ridiculously good to see him alive and well, after so many years spent wondering if she could've done something different to help him. Obviously, he hadn't needed it. It was then that Jean remembered she was supposed to hate him after the last time he had seen him. Looking up at the blatant love and hopeless worry on his face, though, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but sympathy.

"Hailey,"he answered finally, in a whisper. He looked at Jean out of the corner of his eye, and smiled weakly. "It means hero."

Catching the reference, Jean echoed his smile, then patted his arm and stepped away to get a cool cloth for Hailey's forehead.

"Fascinating,"Hank murmured under his breath as he peered into her eyes. "Has she shown any other signs of mutation?"

Remy thought back to the mobile hung over her crib that seemed to spin regardless of a draft or not. He thought back to the temper tantrums that were few in number, but would literally shake the house with intensity. He wondered if her being able to predict his moods meant she was an empath, or just really good at reading her father. He frowned, then shook his head. "Nope, not a t'ing."

On the other side of the room, Logan glanced up from the chair he had sat down in, raising a curious eyebrow in Remy's direction, but said nothing.

Remy didn't notice the Canadian's attention. "What's de matter wit' her, Hank?"

For the first time since he had charged into the medbay, Hank looked up and really saw the tattered man before him. As with Jean, he was having some difficulty reconciling this man with the man he had known years ago. The man he was supposed to despise. He smiled his most assuring doctor smile. "I will do my best, Remy. Perhaps you should have a rest before you fall down. I will need to run some tests before I can determine exactly what is wrong."

Not surprisingly, he shook his head. "No. She can' sleep wit'out me nearby."

As if to prove her father's point, the young girl pried her eyes open. "Papa?"she croaked, reaching out blindly with her hands. Remy easily caught one in his grasp, and pressed it carefully to his lips.

"I'm here, chile." He took the damp cloth from Jean and placed it carefully on her forehead, laying his hand overtop. "You're gonna be jes' fine."

"Where's mommy?"

Remy glanced nervously at the others, then smiled at his daughter. "She's not here, petite. 'S jes' you and me."

He could see the gears working behind her dark feverish eyes, but luckily she didn't ask any further questions. Her gaze shifted, and she watched Hank over her father's shoulder, where he was preparing an IV bag. From there, she looked to Logan on the other side of the room, then up to Jean still standing next to Remy. Her father noticed the question in her eyes, and said, "these are my..." He trailed off, unsure of what to call them that wouldn't be presumptuous. Sure, at one point he would've called them friends. But that was years ago, before certain...incidents...had come to life. He wasn't even sure if he would have been allowed inside the mansion if not for the little girl he had held in his arms.

"We're your daddy's old friends, sweetheart,"Jean finished for him, laying a hand gently on her arm. There was a fleeting look of surprise from Remy before his attention once again returned to his daughter. He bent down close to her, placed a kiss on her burning forehead.

"Hank's de best doctor dis side of de galaxy, petite. He take care of you."

He pulled back slightly, eyes roaming over the familiar lines of her face. Her features were a pleasing blend of his and her mothers. She had her mothers hair, unfortunately; blond, and straight as an arrow. Her jaw, but his lips and nose. His mothers ears, but his demonic eyes. Of all the things he could've passed down to her through his genes, it had to be his eyes. Eyes that had caused him more trouble than he could shake a stick at throughout his life. Eyes that even when hidden behind dark sunglasses, marked him as different, unworthy. Eyes that were now rolling back into her head until nothing but the blacks showed. Her tiny body jerked, thin arms and legs flailing and banging against the table.

"Hank!"Jean cried, pushing past Remy to hold Hailey's head steady. She grabbed the cloth off the child's forehead, and stuffed it into her mouth.

"Hailey?"

Remy watched helplessly as his daughter convulsed and seized in front of his eyes. Logan appeared at his side, grabbing onto the girl's ankles and holding them down. "Grab her arms, Cajun. Don't want her to hurt herself."

Having been given something specific to do, Remy sprung into action. He held her wrists gently, half laying across her to keep her body from rising too far off the table. Hank stepped up to the other side, a loaded syringe in one giant meaty paw.

"Remy, I need to get her arm. This is a muscle relaxant; it should stop the seizures."

'_Should?' _He wanted to question the phrasing of that statement, but was far too busy watching his daughter's life flash before his eyes. She'd been sick before, had the chicken pox when she was younger, and a ghastly case of colic when she was a baby. But he'd never seen a seizure, never seen her move as though some other force was controlling her limbs, like a marionnette with its strings cut. He shuddered at the thought.

It was a long minute before he realized she had stilled beneath him. Logan had stepped back, allowing the qualified personal to resume their duties now that the crisis was over. Hank was shining a light in her eyes again, and Jean was removing the cloth from Hailey's mouth. She caught Remy's questioning glance, and smiled reassuringly.

"Patients who go into seizures often swallow or bite their tongue without helping it. Putting something in their mouth, like a cloth or a spoon, limits the possibility of that happening."

Remy nodded absentmindedly, but his real concentration was on Hank. "What de hell was dat!"

Hank didn't look up from his ministrations. "Likely a fever seizure. I'll have to run some tests to be certain, but the relaxant should stop that from happening again."

He wobbled on suddenly weak knees, and sank gratefully into the chair Logan pushed his way. _This can't be happening,_ he thought to himself, bringing his hands up to his face and scrubbing violently at his eyes. _I'm going to wake up, and she'll be at the door wanting me to make peanut butter pancakes again..._

A hand settled on his knee, and he opened his eyes to Jean's concerned face. He glanced away briefly, noting that Logan was no long in the room, but Hank was still prepping Hailey for an IV.

"Remy." She nudged him softly, bringing his attention back to her. "I don't understand why you're here. Don't get me wrong; I'm thankful that you came, and that we can help your daughter. But I don't understand why here. I mean, after all that happened..."

He frowned deeply at the question. To lie so early in their time here could be detrimental in the end, but the truth was so complicated, so twisted, that he wasn't sure he could get in to it. Running for his daughter's life had taken much of his energy reserve. He sighed heavily, bent forward at the waist and rested his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "I didn' know it was so bad. Took me by surprise. And her life is wort' more t'me than de past."

Jean smiled, squeezed his knee under her hand. "I agree. Things have changed since you...you've been gone, though."

She was trying to covertly warn him, he knew. Such a warning could mean any number of things. Eight years was a long time. He couldn't possibly have expected everything to have remained the same. He didn't want to hear about it at that moment, though. There was far too much on his mind to try to sort out exactly how he felt at being back.

Jean apparently sensed his reluctance, and removed her hand from his knee. "Do you need anything, Remy? Something to eat, maybe? You look a little haggard."

A diluted smile turned up the corners of his lips. "Coffee? I'm not really hungry, but I need de caffeine."

Jean nodded in agreement, and without another word stood and left medbay.

A working silence fell over the room. Remy twisted around in his chair, still not trusting himself to stand. He took Hailey's slack hand in his own, and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. Hank was busy drawing a blood sample from the other arm, but he spared Remy a glance as he carefully removed the needle.

"She should've gotten medical attention days ago, Remy."

Remy winced at the not so subtle reprimand. Hank didn't know. He didn't know that Remy had risked both of their lives to get her out of there. He didn't know that Remy had gotten himself banished for a second time for the health of his first born. He didn't know the situation, and therefore Remy didn't take his disapproval to heart. Nonetheless, he respected Hank, and so it still hurt.

He said nothing, only pressed her limp hand between the both of his. She felt cold, which was odd to Remy considering Hank's diagnosis of a fever seizure. But she was in good hands, this he knew for sure. He dragged his chair closer, leaning forward on the bed and studying her profile as he had so many times before. She was a beautiful young girl, and he knew he was not the only one who thought so. He would likely have to keep the boys away from her with a big pointed stick.

"It's going to be a long wait,"Hank spoke up from the other side of the bed. "You might want to make yourself comfortable."

Remy nodded, but didn't move. His training as a thief had been extensive; he was not adverse to waiting out long periods of time in cramped spaces. So he simply rested his chin in his free hand, and hunkered down for the night. He was not going anywhere.

...tbc...


End file.
